


Security

by LeviathanHomeCooking



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Anal Sex, Getting Together, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rough Sex, Rumrollins Week 2020, not abo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeviathanHomeCooking/pseuds/LeviathanHomeCooking
Summary: Jack is the only werewolf in S.T.R.I.K.E., and it can cause him a lot of grief, but being with Brock makes up for it.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Security

**Author's Note:**

> Written for[ RumRollins Week 2020](https://rumrollinsweek.tumblr.com/tagged/rumrollinsweek2020) . May 28th (Thur): **Possessiveness** / Hurt/comfort

“How do you want your burger?” Rumlow asks as he’s setting a row of patties onto the grill. Every so often he invites the S.T.R.I.K.E. team over for some poker, food, and good times. A little revelry every now and then is good for team bonding.

“Rare.” Rollins responds.

“Hell yeah, you want it bloody and still kicking, huh?” Johnson teases.

Rollins is a werewolf. That in itself wasn’t unusual, werewolves aren’t all that common but their superior abilities and fierce loyalty makes them good soldiers and tacticians, so they are more abundant in tactical sectors. But Rollins is the only werewolf to have ever been placed in S.T.R.I.K.E., as usually werewolves are delegated to specialized wolf-only units. And it sometimes gives Rollins unwanted attention. 

“Ha! Just throw some raw beef on the ground, he'll bury his face in it like a fat kid in a pie eating contest!” Lazlo mimes eating out a pie but it looks more like he’s mimicking oral sex, which makes the guys erupt in laughter. Rollins’s resting face always looks dour, but although he’s clearly not amused, he shows no reaction. 

When Rumlow first hired Rollins, he made a lot of crude assumptions about him. He’s big and tall, with a sour expression, and a jagged scar on his chin, he looks scarier than his ID photo. Rumlow had been expecting a more aggressive and raw approach of an animal, but Rollins proved himself to be a cunning and stealthy operative who didn’t swing around his superior abilities carelessly.

“Hey, hey!” Marten is slapping Rollins’s shoulder, and ignoring Rollins’s look of offense to it, “It’s true werewolves have knots right? Like in their human forms too?” 

“Here we go.” Johnson rolls his eyes

“Marten, how come you gotta ask every guy you ever meet about his dick, you fag?” Brady sneers.

And like a dam being opened, Rollins is hit with a barrage of questions and comments.

“How big do knots get? Are they heavy?”

“Are they just like a second set of balls?”

“You ever put it in somebody’s ass?”

“Are werewolf chicks super hairy?”

“Haha, I’ll give you twenty bucks to show us your knot!” 

“Anybody who flashes their dick on my property is gonna get an ass-kicking, ya dumb twats.” Rumlow pipes up. Another facet of Rollins’s surprising personality is his stoicism and seemingly never-ending patience, but Rumlow knows better. And he knows when to step in.

“‘N why the fuck am I doin’ all the work? Rollins, go inside ‘n get more beer.”

As much as Rollins doesn’t like to be ordered around off the clock, he takes his reprieves while he can get them. In the kitchen, he lingers, holding the handle of the fridge but just glaring at the blank white surface rather than opening it. He hears Rumlow approaching so he breaks out of his daze to actually open the fridge. 

“Don’t let those guys get to ya, they’re just givin’ you a hard time.” Rumlow claps him on the back and this time he’s not offended by the touch. 

“You’d think the novelty would wear off after three years.” Rollins grumbles. 

“They got one-track minds. Remember when Ferreira got hired? They wouldn’t stop talking in a shitty Mexican accent for _weeks_.” Rumlow chuckles, remembering it fondly. Rollins just rolls his eyes. He pulls out an assortment of alcohol and sets it on the island. “I think I liked it better when they were afraid of me.” He complains.

Rumlow snorts. Those sure were the days. Rollins is a lot scarier than some of the baby-faced recruits that come straight out of S.H.I.E.L.D. training camp, and when he first arrived he barely spoke but seemed to be oblivious of human etiquette like personal space and blinking at regular intervals, habits which he still hasn’t kicked.

Rumlow busts the cap of a beer and offers it, “I know we’re not wolves or anything, but what do you do in packs to get along?” 

Rollins accepts the beer and sips it idly. “Hmm, same as you I guess; lick each other’s crotches.” 

Rumlow blinks, not sure he heard right. Then he barks out a laugh. He tosses a cap at Rollins playfully. “Fuck you, asshole.” Rollins grins behind the neck of his beer, where a flash of sharp canines can be seen. 

Goddamn. 

Rumlow hired Rollins because he thought his unique abilities would be an asset to the team, and made him lieutenant because he was an excellent agent, but he can’t deny he’s got it bad for his younger colleague. It doesn’t help that Rollins is built like a brick house and by nature more physically affectionate, as werewolves prefer non-verbal methods of communication. Rollins will often sit plastered to Rumlow’s side, touching shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, during transport or meetings. When no one is looking he’ll sniff Rumlow, particularly out in the field.

When he smells Rumlow’s blood sugar getting low, Rollins wordlessly brings him snacks like a good lap dog—or a good boyfriend. And whenever Rollins eats, he _always_ offers up some of his food to Rumlow.

Rollins doesn’t do this with anybody else on the team, except for maybe standing too close sometimes or scenting discreetly. Probably because he’d never hear the end of it from them, unlike Rumlow who has learned to roll with the eccentricities without fuss. He’s not going to make a big deal out of Rollins doing what comes naturally to him. It’s just how wolves traditionally act towards their pack leaders, right? It’s nothing personal.

* * *

“Quit it with the pussy shit, hit me for real.” Rumlow goads.

“I’m way stronger than you, I’ll shatter your bones.” Rollins watches Rumlow’s taped up fists, anticipating his next jab. 

Rumlow laughs with all the condescending cockiness he reeks of on a daily basis. “Shatter my bones? You can’t even land a hit.” 

“Probably ‘cause you’re prancing around like a damn fairy.” Rollins quips. Yeah he’s physically stronger and has heightened senses and reflexes, but in his human form he’s slower and not as agile. Rumlow is light and fast, never stops moving. “C’mon, hit me.” He keeps insisting. 

Rollins is looking skeptical, he’s also looking extremely sexy in his gym clothes; a tanktop and basketball shorts that show off his long muscular limbs. His hairy chest is glistening with sweat.

This isn’t a training session, it’s just the two of them tucked into a small matted room in the gym having a friendly row in their off time.

Rumlow makes a series of quick little cuffs, and then surprises Rollins by slapping him in the face. The startled look on his face is hilarious. Rumlow cackles, knows he’s getting on his subordinate’s nerves. It took a long time for him to figure out what buttons to push to get Rollins to the point where he’s vicious and feral and unrelenting in his pursuit of dominance. Rumlow can take it, and It’s much more fun to spar that way. 

And as much as he tries to hide it, Rollins is a sore loser. 

Rollins puts his arms down, and gives his friend an unamused look, as if he’s better than all this.

Rumlow punches Rollins square in the jaw. “Augh!” The wolf cries out, recoils and covers his wounded mouth with his hand. When it pulls away his lips are coated in blood like a fine lipstick, rows of straight white teeth now filling with red. 

Rumlow just laughs like a madman. “C’mon where’s that big bad wolf?”

Rollins looks pissed, he’s got that deadly piercing glimmer in his eye, the one Rumlow has only caught glimpses of. The one Rollins gets when a target won’t stay down, the one he gets when he cautiously stalks his prey, the one he gets when the wolf inside him wakes up. 

The wolf wipes his mouth and sets his jaw. “Don’t say I didn't warn you.” And in the blink of an eye he’s striking Rumlow with his heavy fists. And they _definitely_ smart this time, knocking the wind out of him. Rollins doesn’t stop, just pummels him until Rumlow kicks him hard in the shin. He’s not against playing dirty. But it only serves to make Rollins more mad and more vicious.

Pretty soon they’re at each other like a couple of animals, swinging and kicking, grunting, tackling one another and trying to pin each other to the mats. Despite the beating he’s taking, Rumlow is still laughing. He rolls them over so that he’s straddling his SIC’s stomach. He’s absolutely loving this.

Before Rollins can retaliate, in a fit of what has to be insanity, Rumlow is mauling his neck with teeth. 

“Argh!” Rollins snarls, wrenching them apart.

Rollins flops back onto the mat, protects the wound, stares up at his commander in bewilderment. Rumlow is looking wild, eyes wide, hair tangled, and lips painted bloody.

Rollins’s fingers come away red from his neck. “You fucking bit me...” He pants out, wide-eyed and confused. 

They’re staring each other down now, waiting to see who makes the first move. Rumlow doesn’t know what came over him, maybe he just doesn’t know how to not escalate. But he can feel the adrenaline pumping in his veins, a little dizzy realizing what he just did, feeling the warm satisfaction in his gut. How right it feels.

Rumlow tilts his head, showing off the inviting expanse of his neck, blinks slowly. The wolf eyes him warily, and Rumlow licks up the taste of him from his lips. A scent is wafting off him, strong and insistent, something Rollins has occasionally smelled on him before but wasn’t entirely sure what it was. 

Rumlow can see it in his face the moment Rollins pieces everything together. He leans down but Rollins snatches him by the head and smashes their faces together. He goes eagerly into the trap of Rollins’s strong arms, ruts their crotches against each other. Rollins is growling into his mouth as they’re exchanging wet and toothy kisses laced with the metallic tang of blood.

Rumlow is _ecstatic_ to feel Rollins’s dick beneath him, huge and firming up by the second. He wants his friend to get rough, get mean, to ravish him in all the twisted ways he’s fantasized about. And for once Rollins doesn’t restrain himself; growling deep, using his strength to push his superior this way and that to get at all his sensitive spots with his tongue and his teeth. Rollins can smell his arousal all over him, now that he knows what that smell means, a perfume cloud of musk and salt and spice.

Rumlow reaches his hand between them and fumbles with the strings of his lieutenant’s shorts. He has to see it, and Rollins amazingly lets him. He gets a firm grip on his cock, hot and thick and pulsing, strokes from base to tip. It looks entirely human, aside from the swell at the base, uncut and long and a red flush like the one on Rollins’s face. Said wolf eagerly thrusts up into that warm vice so that it envelopes that swell, making him groan hotter and louder. Rumlow has never been with a werewolf and knows nothing about their sexuality, but he knows when to take a hint. He strokes over just that swell until Rollins is jerking and gasping, it gets wider and wider with each pass, and Rollins’s muscles are bulging and flexing with strain. 

It’s the sexiest thing Rumlow has ever seen, but he doesn’t want it to end just yet so he goes back to stroking from base to tip, caressing the sensitive head and then sliding back to squeeze that knot. Rollins grabs him by his hair so he can lick into Rumlow’s hot mouth, lap their tongues together. He slips his own hand down Rumlow’s shorts, palms his shaft and twists his hand with each pass over the glans to get him melting. Rumlow whines at the feel of sharp canines biting his skin.

It’s fucking heavenly.

Rollins’s breathing becomes unsteady and so does his hand as the pleasure rises. Then, heat explodes in his stomach and his cock twitches, spurting long ropes of cum between them both. Rumlow follows moments later after a harsh bite to his neck and a rough squeeze to his dick. He rolls onto the mat, a sated, happy lump.

But Rollins isn’t finished. He’s got his own hand around his knot, squeezing rhythmically to the twitches of his cock that dribble out more semen. 

Rumlow looks on in awe. “Are you...still coming?” He asks. 

Rollins nods, “‘Wolf orgasms are— _ah_ , longer...more drawn out.” Shiny with sweat and hair mused, he makes a delicious sight. 

“Fuck that’s hot.” Rumlow breathes. 

Rollins looks skeptical for the briefest of seconds, so quick Rumlow just barely catches it, before it’s lost to pleasure.

He can’t have that. 

So Rumlow pushes his friend’s hand away from his cock and replaces it with his own. “Slow.” Rollins instructs. Rumlow keeps one hand on his knot, pressing in time with the intermittent pulses, and gently pumps him with his other hand. Rollins lets out a big, reverent sigh, closing his eyes and slumping against the mat. 

Rumlow imagines all the fun he can have with this. He loves the little shivers and twitches Rollins makes, his face twisted in ecstacy, until the pulses stop and he’s squirming, oversensitive. The base of his dick is still swollen, and Rumlow wonders how long it will be until it deflates. 

Rollins finally relaxes on the mat, eyes closed and chest still heaving. Rumlow pulls up both their shorts before someone comes by and sees them with their dicks out, if someone hasn’t already…

There’s a long awkward interlude where all that can be heard is heavy breathing.

Rollins breaks the silence first. “How long have you known?” 

“Hmm? Known what?” Rumlow rolls onto his side to face Rollins.

“That I’m into you.” Rollins clarifies.

Rumlow laughs, “I didn’t. Well— _now_ …” Rumlow gestured a hand between them and trails off with a charming smile.

Rollins looks handsomely confused now. “I thought that’s why you were doing all that werewolf body language stuff like showing me your neck and biting me, because you were responding to my courting rituals.”

“Courting rituals?” Rumlow’s grin gets ten times bigger, “You’ve been flirting with me in wolf-speak this entire time?”

Rollins’s eyes roll back when he realizes what he had just revealed. He bonks his head against the mat and covers his face with his hands. 

“I don’t know how to speak werewolf at all, I was just screwin’ around...” Rumlow pauses, his smile fading, “Wait, did you think I was just rejecting all your flirting until now?”

Rollins sighs, dropping his hands to his sides. “I didn’t know if you even understood or not. I liked you, so I started doing it unconsciously and then just couldn’t stop.” 

Rumlow lays his head on Rollins’s stomach and gazes up at him with a cheeky little smirk. “Is wolf flirting always so rough?” 

“Sort of…” Rollins mutters. 

“Hmm, well, you can get rough with me any time ya like.”

“What about...dinner sometime?” Rollins suggests cautiously. 

“I can definitely get on board with that too.” Rumlow smiles.

* * *

“Ready?” Jack asks, breathless. 

“Yeah, _yeah_ , knot me.” Brock moans.

Jack pushes him flat against the bed, smothers him with his weight to keep him pinned. He rocks his hips flush against Brock’s ass, deep and slow. The base of his dick is swelling up, and Brock moans at the hot, aching stretch, gulping in air like he can’t breathe. 

“Haa, haa...uhn _Jack_ —Fuck, ah.” He reaches up to grab a hold of Jack’s head, but his wrist is captured and pinned to his chest with a growl. Jack attacks his neck with kisses and sharp bites, asserting his dominance. Subdues Brock, makes him _take it_. Brock is far from sore about it though, because he lets out a laugh that devolves into a heady groan.

Jack is a mess of panting and biting and growling, all the nerves in his body centering on that tight vice squeezing tighter and tighter around his aching knot. 

As usual, Brock can’t shut his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, _fuck_ —Jack, _ah_. Do it, do it, _ohh_...” 

Jack can’t move far with the knot, but it puts delicious pressure on Brock’s prostate. It’s all painful, warm, full, tight, and so _so_ good. Just on the edge of too much. Jack finally, blissfully, comes thrusting deep inside Brock, growling hot into his ear. The thrusts slowly wind down, and Jack finishes by pressing as deep as he can go and circling his hips to savor their sweet tie, rumbling deep and loud with satisfaction. 

Brock goes limp and lets out a rapturous sigh. “Okay?” Jack breathlessly whispers into his ear. “Yeah, fantastic.” Brock slurs with a dopey smile on his face. 

Little shivers come to Jack in waves, werewolf orgasms last longer than human ones. If he were fucking a werewolf woman, her cunt would be rhythmically clenching around his cock to milk all the seed into her cervix. Instead Jack rocks in slow, tiny circles, moans when it satisfies the need. 

“Still okay?” Jack grits out through the agonizing pleasure. 

“Ah, yeah, so fucking good.” Brock slurs. “...You?” He asks with a smirk, because he’s always got to be a smart-ass.

Jack grunts, “Incredible.” As if he’d be anything else. He can’t believe Brock is letting him do this. He’s so tight it has to be hurting him, but he doesn’t flinch or squirm away, in fact he’s reaching behind to dig his nails into the meat of Jack’s ass to pull him closer.

Jack maneuvers them so they’re spooning on their sides and resumes humping. Jack ruts against him with nothing but the sound of sighing, kisses, and the squeaking of the bed. He runs hot palms up and down Brock’s body, wraps one around his dick and strokes. 

Being filled to the brim, enormous pressure on his prostate, and a warm, slick hand on his cock, it’s all too much for Brock. “Ah, fuck, fuck—M’close...Jack— _Jack_ —” He’s is chanting, moaning, wiggling. The closer he gets the more he clamps down on Jack’s cock and it’s got the wolf whispering praise in the most reverent, labored tone. “Ah, fuck baby come, c’mon. You’re fucking perfect. _Hmm._ So fucking tight around my knot. _S’good_. C’mon, ah.” 

Brock lets out a strangled moan, convulsing around Jack and spraying white all over his stomach.

Jack’s orgasm ended, but they’re still tied and will be for at least a few more minutes. The heavy pull of his knot is actually a little uncomfortable now, but Jack is purring and petting Brock all over to keep him relaxed and comfortable. They doze for a while until the knot finally goes down.

“Gonna pull out now, okay?” Jack murmurs. “Yeah.” Brock’s voice is gruff.

Jack pulls his now soft cock out carefully. Cum immediately trickles out, and Brock’s hole is stretched wide, red and puffy. Jack spreads his cheeks to get a better look, and another surge of cum comes spilling out. He can’t help the groan that comes out of him. Brock, who’s watching him with a lazy satisfied smirk, hums. 

Jack is dipping his fingers into the mess and smearing it across Brock’s ass. Digits slip inside, making the human moan with over-sensitivity.

“You okay? Any pain?” Jack asks.

“Hmm, no. Just sore.” Brock replies, stretching. A few joints crack but he settles on his back leisurely. More thick, hot cum seeps out and it makes him shiver. The werewolf is enthralled and continues to paint his seed over Brock’s skin, over his thighs, his taint, his balls, his softened cock, and finally his stomach. He nuzzles up to Brock’s sticky crotch and breathes in. 

“Having fun?” Brock asks coyly. 

Jack seems to blink out of his haze and turn bashful, as if he was caught doing something he shouldn't be. He goes to move away, but Brock reels him in with a muscular arm around his neck and gives him a demanding kiss. Jack snuggles up to him at his behest, draping an arm over his stomach, possessive. 

“Was that good?” Brock asks, petting Jack’s bicep.

“Good? It was incredible. Never did that before.” Jack admits.

“What? Never knotted someone in the ass?”

“Never knotted _anyone_ before.”

Brock’s eyebrows nearly fly off his head. “Never?”

“Yeah, I don’t like women. And a lot of guys—wolf or human—aren’t into taking a knot. Usually I just won’t penetrate or just hold my knot outside while I come.” 

“Jesus, well they don’t know what they’re missing out on.” 

“I take it, that means you liked it?”

“Naw, I was just making all those ugly noises for my health.” Brock says sarcastically. 

Jack chuckles. “They’re not ugly, they’re sexy.”

“Hmm, you’re the sexy one here. All that growling and holdin’ me down. Christ.” Brock pulls his head in for a kiss. After, Jack nestles his nose in the crook of Brock’s neck, breathing in his scent. Brock can definitely get used to this...

* * *

Jack has been acting weird lately. Well, weirder than the werewolf normally acts. 

Over the years Brock had gotten used to his many oddities, and even came to understand them (sort of). Jack communicates a lot more by smell, and his touch leaves scent-markings that tell him things no human can decipher. He seeks out his belongings and territory for frequent reassurance that they are still there, still safe, and still his. 

But now Jack was doing something entirely different.

All of a sudden, Jack was no longer the handsy, possessive man he typically is. He keeps Brock at a minimum three feet distance, no longer sniffs him, speaks few words if any to him, and avoids being alone with him at all. But he’s also volatile; glaring down everyone and everything, huffing and strutting around like a child barely containing their tantrum. He’s got the rest of the team on edge waiting for him to snap.

Brock is frantically recalling the past few weeks, trying to figure out if he had done something to piss him off. And with Jack avoiding him they haven’t had any alone time to talk it through, busier now that the asset has been unthawed for a new assignment.

Jack doesn’t like the asset. Not an unpopular opinion; the soldier’s dead-eyed stare is unnerving, often tricking people into thinking he’s not listening, not watching, only to come to life like a soulless puppet. But Jack specified that he doesn’t like the asset’s scent. “He smells like a wolf...but not.” He says when they’re alone, “Like death. Like a dead wolf.”

The asset is not a werewolf, you can’t become a werewolf you are only born one, but it’s common knowledge that werewolves were the subjects of eugenic experiments. No doubt they played a role in Hydra's development of the supersoldier serum. 

Brock wonders if that fact upsets Jack. He never talks about his family or his own species. He never explained why he chose to join a tac team filled with humans rather than be with his own kind. Brock assumed that he’d talk about it when he’s ready, so he never asked. Now he’s kind of regretting it as he realizes just how little he knows about his lover. He’s never even seen Jack’s wolf-form.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Brock demands, “For the past week you’ve either been completely unresponsive like a mute or violently aggressive. And now you’re tryin’a go toe to toe with the _asset_ , are you fucking insane?”

The asset can be touchy sometimes, but it’s nothing Brock hasn’t handled before. Brock was handling the soldier’s tantrum just fine until Jack got in between them, meeting the soldier’s aggression equally if not worse, refusing Brock’s orders to stand down. All in front of Pierce too. Thankfully Pierce didn’t seem all that worried, but made a dismissive comment to Brock about “keeping his lap dog on a leash in the future” once the situation had been diffused.

Now, in the semi-privacy of Brock’s office, Jack stands at parade rest glaring at the floor. “If you don’t start talking soon you’re gonna get a write-up and one hell of a punishment to go along with it.” Brock warns. They may be dating, but he can’t afford to let their relationship compromise their positions.

“I’m in rut.” Jack grunts.

Brock isn’t sure he heard him right. “What?” 

“I’m. In. Rut.” Jack seethes out. 

Brock is completely taken aback, he’s not an expert on werewolves but he knows that their reproductive cycles can make them irritable, but Jack has never shown this type of behavior before. “So this is all because you’re fucking _horny_?” Brock asks incredulously.

Jack grimaces, clearly ashamed but also furious. “ _No_ —”

Brock ignores him, continues on, “Throwing a big tantrum cause you can’t get your dick wet?”

Jack is growling and hunching up. Brock continues to ignore these warning signs.

“Or is this some wolf pissing contest bullshit? Huh? Are you just a dumb fucking animal marking your territory?”

“ **Augh!** ” Jack roars, he whips to the side and busts his fist through the wall. 

Brock staggers back in shock. It’s not the first time a temperamental subordinate flung his fist through Brock’s wall, but this is the first time _Jack_ has ever had such a violent outburst. 

For a moment everything is deadly silent save for Jack’s panting. As moments pass, the rage bleeds out of him, and that protective icy shell he wears so often drapes over him. He pulls his arm out of the plaster, and thumps his head against the wall.

“I’ll pay for that.” Jack promises in a quiet, defeated voice.

“Yeah, you will.” Rumlow agrees, he studies Jack. He probably wanted to smash Brock in the face but had enough sense in the moment to divert his direction. “I’m guessing this has been bubbling up for quite some time. Gonna tell me what it’s all about?”

“Just—When I’m in rut everything feels more intense. Sights, sounds, smells, emotions…It’s overwhelming. It’s not just ‘cause I wanna get my dick wet like some dumb fucking dog.” He sneers. Jack has endured countless rude and ignorant shit about his kind all his life, but it’s different when it’s coming from your lover.

Now it’s Brock’s turn to feel a little ashamed. “You’ve never acted this way before…” He mutters.

“That’s because before It wasn’t as bad, I could control myself. Before we weren’t…” Jack trails off.

“We weren’t what?”

“We weren’t _together_. You weren’t...my mate.”

Brock blinks like a deer in headlights. “Mate? I thought all that bonding stuff didn’t work with humans?” 

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Because even if we aren’t bonded I’m still...my body still recognizes you and what you are to me. I don’t know, maybe it’s psychological...” Jack sighs, he turns around and leans back on the wall. 

“What exactly does all that mean? Just how does me being around affect you?” 

Jack makes a big sigh, contemplating. “Just all my senses are honed on you. I can’t get your heartbeat out of my head, can’t stop smelling you or looking for your scent when you’re not around. And when you are around I just...I just go crazy being so close and not able to do anything.” 

This has got to be the longest conversation they’ve had in the past week. And, yeah, Jack talking about how Brock’s presence makes him go wild is softening his anger. He wants to be closer, so he inches around his desk to slowly approach. Jack’s piercing gaze lands on him for the first time in a while, ultra focused on every minute movement. To anyone else it would be terrifying, intimidating, but Brock just continues to approach slowly.

“Wanna protect you, destroy anything little thing that tries to hurt you. And it’s got every one of my senses working in overdrive to feel out every little thing like a thousand voices screaming in my head. I just want to hide you away and claim you so that you’re safe and all mine.” Jack continues. 

“Then how come you haven’t? How come you’ve been avoiding me?” Brock finally stops with only inches between them.

“Because...if I get my hands on you I won’t want to stop.” The green of Jack’s eyes have been entirely consumed by black, his breathing has picked up, and his nostrils flare, obviously tantalized by his mate’s scent.

“Are you afraid you’ll hurt me?”

“ _No!_ It’s—you don’t have to—” Jack licks his lips, nervous.

It all clicks into place and Brock gapes in bewilderment. “ _Don’t have to?_ Jack, do you seriously think that I _don’t_ want to have kinky marathon sex with you?” 

“It can be exhausting for humans...” It may seem new and novel at first, but it gets old fast. What is fun at first becomes a chore when you’ve expended all your energy, chafed and sore, but your partner is still nowhere near satisfied.

“That’s a bullshit excuse.” Brock points an accusatory finger at him, “You and I both know I’m fully capable of handling you. M’not not fragile little butterfly.” Brock says, pressing himself flush against Jack. He’s ecstatic to feel Jack’s hard cock pressing against his stomach. Has he been hard this entire time? Merely by Brock’s presence?

“But you don’t have to just because—” Jack is trying to get away but he’s trapped by the wall.

“Jesus Christ, Jack! Don’t you get it? I _want_ you to fuck me stupid. I _want_ you to put your knot in me. I _want_ you to get rough and wild and possessive. I _want_ you to come in me and all over me again and again and again until we can barely fuckin’ move.” 

Jack closes his eyes and gulps in air.

“You can smell it on me, I know you can, how much I want you.” Brock leans in to bite his way up Jack’s neck, “I’m not put off by all your wolf stuff, and anyone who is ain’t worth shit. So ya don’t gotta be so self-conscious all the time. You don’t have to pretend to be anything else.”

Something in Jack breaks, because he’s roping Brock into a deep, bruising kiss. Jack squeezes him tight, like if he lets go Brock will disappear. Contrary to his fearful imagination, Brock doesn’t shatter, he squeezes back just as tight and just as desperate for Jack in return.

* * *

It was always Brock. It was always him accepting Jack as he is, every quirk and habit and abnormality included. Human, wolf, something in between, or something else entirely, it doesn’t matter.

All that matters is Brock lying flushed beneath him now, his copper skin littered with dozens of bite marks and bruises from Jack laying his claim. And every single one Brock enjoyed thoroughly. Jack has got his own marks to match; bites around his neck and shoulders along with scratches painting any skin Brock could reach— _Brock’s_ claim on _him_. 

Working on his third orgasm now, Brock can’t do much but lay back and let Jack rock into him. He’s a wreck, drenched in sweat and cum and saliva, his usual meticulously styled quiff now wet, matted strands falling into his face.

They’re holed up in Jack’s apartment, in his bedroom where his bed is just a king-sized mattress nestled up against the corner on the floor. It’s littered with blankets, pillows, clothes, towels, and even some of Brock’s old gym sweats that Jack may or may not have stolen from his locker. Where they’re safe and comfortable and have each other all to themselves.

Jack’s stomach hair tickles Brock’s cock, and it occasionally makes him whimper from over-stimulation. Six orgasms, but Jack isn’t finished yet. Brock doesn’t have much left in him, but that’s okay, he’s given Jack far more than he could have ever dreamed of.

Jack’s head swims with chaotic thoughts. 

_You’re going too fast._

_It’s too much._

_You’ll hurt him._

_You’re being selfish._

Jack’s hands tremble with the desire to possess him. Teeth ache with the need to bite down and totally consume Brock. The wolf in him is screaming at him to take and take and _take_ —

“I love you.” Jack pants out. 

Brock’s eyes open more, trying to focus on that awe inspiring expression his lover is making. 

“I love you.” Jack repeats like a prayer, cradling Brock like something sacred. Brock pulls him in, tries to get Jack to completely envelope him, smashes their lips together desperately. When they’re breathlessly pulling apart Brock wheezes, “Love you too.”

They press their foreheads together, share the air between them while Jack ruts into that sweet, welcoming heat. Jack’s knot is starting to swell again, making Brock’s hole feel tighter, the friction more intense. Jack groans and clenches his eyes shut, “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“Do it, just like this, knot me.” Brock tightens his legs around Jack’s hips. 

Jack moans in agony. “You sure?”

“Yeah, _fuck_ , please, wanna be tied to you.” There’s no way Jack can resist such an invitation. Brock combs his fingers through Jack’s silky hair, watches him intently as he loves to see the faces Jack makes when he comes. Brock can feel the knot expanding inside him, filling him up just a hair’s breadth from his limit. To his surprise, it makes his stomach burn and then every muscle in him clench. His cock pulses, but his balls have nothing left in them. Brock is gulping in desperate, almost agonizing breaths as ecstasy rips through him. 

It’s the most beautiful thing Jack has ever seen, and he can’t stop himself from spending his pleasure inside Brock, locking them together. 

Brock looks close to passing out, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“Tired? You can sleep.” Jack says against his lips. He runs his fingers through Brock’s sweaty locks, sniffs at his temple to smell his sweat. He gingerly arranges his nest to make Brock more comfortable.

Brock looks like he wants to argue for the briefest moment, but exhaustion wins out in the end. He nods and closes his eyes. He's going to be sore as hell when he wakes up, but it's worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my[ Tumblr (LeviathanHomeCooking) ](https://leviathanhomecooking.tumblr.com)


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